“You cut your hair,” he said in her ear. “I like it.”
She flashed a gentle smile. “Thank you.”
Settling back, David crossed one leg over the opposite knee. “I asked you a question last week, and you said you’d wait until you saw me to give me an answer.”
Morgan gave him a sidelong glance. Many women her age were looking for a single, attractive, intelligent, and professional man to go out with, and here she was ready to turn him down. “I can’t go out with you now. Not when you’d mistakenly called me Petra a couple of times.”
David met her eyes. “I guess it’s going to take time for me to get over her.”
She patted his hand. “Five years is a long time to see someone exclusively, so I understand what you’re going through.”
Reversing their hands, he squeezed her fingers. “You’re a good friend, Morgan. If you need anything, I want you to call me. And that includes legal advice.”
Morgan nodded. She liked David but not in that way. “It looks as if everyone took Jeff and Kara’s invitation literally,” she said, shifting the topic of conversation away from them.
David glanced around the tent. “You’re right. There’s hardly an empty seat.”
Two minutes later prerecorded music flowed from the speakers attached to the poles in the tent, and those standing around talking to one another craned their necks looking for empty seats.
It’d been a little more than six months since Nathaniel had returned to Haven Creek, but sitting under the tent brought back memories of his childhood when he’d accompany his parents to a Cavanaugh Island wedding. He didn’t have to know who was getting married. It was just the excitement of seeing everyone dressed in their Sunday best and going to the reception that followed the beachfront ceremony where he’d eat until his belly felt as if it would explode. That was before his mother took sick, complaining of pains in her stomach while growing thinner with each passing day until she barely weighed eighty pounds when she finally passed away.
There had been an open invitation from Jeff and Kara to everyone to attend their wedding; but Kara had broken with tradition when she invited the entire island to come to the reception that was to be held at Angels Landing. Nate had come because of Jeff. After his shift ended the sheriff would stop and they would share a cold beer while reminiscing about back in the day. No one was more surprised than Nate when Jeff announced he was getting married. Times had changed, and he had changed, and twenty years was a long time to be away from his family, friends, and all that was familiar.
“Hey, Nate, where have you been hiding yourself? I was expecting you to come by the club.”
Rising slightly, he gave one of the partners of the Happy Hour a rough embrace. “I’ve been busy putting up a barn.” The building that Shaw Woodworking had occupied for decades was not only too small for Nate and his father to work on large pieces, but also the structure needed major repairs.
Jesse Grant landed a soft punch on Nate’s shoulder. “Tell your old man to give you time off for good behavior. Look, man, I’d love to stay and talk, but I have to give my cousin a message from her mother. Come on by either Friday or Saturday. That’s when we have live music.”
“I’ll think about it,” Nate said, smiling.
“I’ll be looking for you, bro,” Jesse said over his shoulder as he made his way toward the front of the tent.
Nate wanted to tell Jesse he had no intention of going to a club. Not even one as innocuous as the Happy Hour. The past four years of his life had been a merry-go-round of clubs, and he’d had his fill of ear-shattering music, flashing lights, and people with plastic smiles and surgically enhanced bodies that were either too high or too drunk to remember what they’d said or done the night before.
He retook his seat, watching Jesse when he beckoned toward Morgan. Nate’s eyebrows lifted slightly. When he’d left the Creek to attend college, she had been a shy, long-legged, wide-eyed awkward girl. Not only had she grown up, but she’d also filled out. She laughed at something Jesse said, dimples winking in her flawless dark brown face.
Nate found himself transfixed with the fluidity of her hands when she gestured and the graceful lines of her body outlined in the fitted tangerine-orange sheath dress. He couldn’t imagine why she’d called him or what she wanted to talk to him about; however, he would find out in another three hours.
“Are you really going to the Happy Hour?” Bryce asked his brother.
Nate looked at Bryce, noticing a shimmer of excitement in his large hazel eyes. “No.”
“Come on, Nate. You have to go at least once.”
Resting an arm over the back of his brother’s chair, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. If I’ve seen one club, I’ve seen them all. And even if I did go, I’m not taking you with me. Remember, you have a curfew.”
Bryce sat up straight. “We could get there around eight and leave in time for me to get home by midnight.”
Nate shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not biting.”
His twenty-two-year-old brother couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. It’d begun when Bryce went to high school on the mainland. He dabbled in drugs, got arrested for drunk driving, and the year before was arrested for disorderly conduct. In lieu of going to jail, he was placed on probation for two years. Bryce was required to call the Charleston Department of Probation every night from his home phone before midnight, was mandated not to leave the island, and had unannounced home visits from his probation officer. Nate blamed himself for not being there for his brother when he needed him most, but now that he was back to stay he knew things would be different. Their father’s hypertension had put him at high risk for a stroke, and he had asked Nate to look after Bryce.
Bryce folded his arms over his chest, stretched out his legs, and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Don’t you know how to have fun? You get up before dawn and work on that damn barn all day and half the night. You’re not Noah building an ark because the Lord told you that he’s going to send a flood to destroy—” His words were choked off when Nate’s hand tightened around his hand.
“Watch your mouth, Bryce,” Nate whispered hoarsely. “You’ve been giving Dad a rough time, but it stops now.” He increased the pressure on his fingers. “Since I’ve been back, I’ve turned a blind eye to your smart-ass mouth. The barn will be finished in a couple of weeks, and that’s when you’ll start getting up at dawn to work with me. No more sleeping late and sitting around all day watching television. And when you speak to your mother and father, it will be with respect or I’ll call your probation officer and have him violate you.” Nate released Bryce’s hand. “What’s it going to be, bro? Are you willing to work with me, or would you prefer the accommodations at the county jail?”
Bryce gritted his teeth. “Do I have a choice?”
“Sure you do. Some guys prefer three hots and a cot to an honest day’s work. Now, are you going to pick door number one or door number two?”
A beat passed; then Bryce mumbled, “I’ll work with you.”
Smiling, he patted the younger man’s cheek. “Now, that was easy.”
Nate didn’t like playing the bully when he’d always been Bryce’s hero. Three thousand miles and twenty years hadn’t been enough to sever the bond he had with his sister and brother. He called, wrote, and never forgot their birthdays or his niece’s or nephew’s. His relationship with his father and stepmother took longer to resolve, and it was the first time since Luther had married Odessa that Nate felt they were truly a family unit. It had taken time, distance, and maturity to realize he couldn’t change the past.
His father’s affair with his wife’s nurse as his mother lay dying had haunted Nate for years. Rumors and gossip were as intrinsic to the people who lived on Cavanaugh Island as was their Lowcountry cuisine. He’d believed it was simply talk until he saw his father and Odessa in bed together once his mother was admitted to a mainland hospice.
Fifteen-year-old Nate took Manda Shaw’s death hard; he inte
nsely resented the woman who three months later had taken her place when she married Luther; he rejected her and her claim that she was his stepmother.
He’d returned to Haven Creek a week before Christmas, and spent all of his nervous energy on his handiwork. Bryce was right when he said he spent all of his waking hours building the barn. Not only was it therapeutic, but when completed would provide a place for him to live without depending on the generosity of his sister and brother-in-law who’d permitted him to stay in their guest room.
The wedding planner and her staff were motioning for everyone to take a seat because the wedding was scheduled to begin. Nate checked his cell phone. It was 11:58. The ceremony was scheduled for noon, followed by a cocktail hour at one, and buffet dinner at two.
The chamber music changed, and everyone turned to watch as marines in their dress blues escorted Kara’s mother and father and Jeff’s grandmother to their assigned seats. The best man wore his dress blue uniform, and Kara’s maid of honor resplendent in a cornflower-blue halter A-line gown moved in a procession down the white carpet to where Rev. Malcolm Crawford stood next to Jeff, who also wore his dress blues. The music changed again, this time to the familiar strains of the “Wedding March.” The assembly stood, turned and stared when Kara appeared on the arm of her father.
Nate’s eyes met Morgan’s when she turned in his direction. A smile played at the corners of her mouth before it grew wider, dimples deepening like thumbprints. Unconsciously he returned her smile, then shifted his attention to what was touted to become the wedding of the season.
After losing her husband, Deborah needs a fresh start in a place that holds happy memories.
Ever since the loss of his family, Asa has been on a quest for faith and meaning.
Both might find their second chance in…
Sanctuary Cove
Please turn this page for an excerpt.
Chapter One
Barbara, are you sure you don’t mind looking after Whitney and Crystal for the week? You know I can always take them with me.”
“Deborah Robinson! Do you realize how many times you’ve asked the same question and I’ve given you the same answer? No, I don’t mind at all. Now go before you miss your ferry. And no cell phone calls from the car.”
“Thanks for everything,” Deborah whispered, hugging her friend. “I’ll call you from the island.”
Deborah ran across the front lawn, jumped into her car, fastened the seatbelt and pulled away from the curb. Smiling at years of happy memories as she drove through the back streets of Charleston, Deborah made it to the pier before sailing time. She drove onto the ferry, turned off the car, and got out to stand at the rail, instantly refreshed by the cool breeze. This time her return to the small community of Sanctuary Cove wouldn’t be for a weekend or mini-vacation, but to air out the house she’d inherited from her grandparents in order to make it her home and to look at a vacant store she’d rented where she’d open her bookstore.
Two blasts from the ferry’s horn echoed it was time to sail; a man on the pier tossed the thick coil of hemp to another worker on the ferry, freeing it; below deck engines belched, coughed, and rumbled. There came another horn blast and the ferryman deftly steered the boat through the narrow inlet until he reached open water.
Resting her elbows on the rail, Deborah watched as steeples and spires of the many churches rising above the landscape disappeared from view. As the boat headed in a southeast direction she stared at the island shorelines of Kiawah, Seabrook and Edisto Islands before the ferryboat slowed, chugging slowly and docking at Cavanaugh Island. She was the last one off the boat, and waved to the captain as he tipped his hat.
Driving off the ferry, she felt herself blinking back tears, remembering the last time she’d come here. It had been Thanksgiving and she, Louis and their kids had decided to celebrate the holiday at the Cove rather than in Charleston. Louis never could have imagined as he’d carved turkey that a week later he would become embroiled in a scandal. That he would be seen in a compromising position with one of his female students.
Despite declaring that he was simply comforting her, and there was nothing improper going on between him and the student, Louis Robinson was suspended pending a school board hearing. Tensions and emotions were fever-pitched as Charlestonians formed opposing factions while Louis awaited his fate. Deborah blamed those who were quick to judge her husband for his death, and all of their condolences fell on deaf ears when the truth was finally revealed. The truth had come too late. She’d lost her husband of eighteen years and Whitney and Crystal their father.
Slowing and coming to a complete stop, she reached for a tissue and blotted the tears, praying for a time when the tears wouldn’t come without warning, or so easily. It took several minutes, but after taking a few deep breaths, she was back in control.
Stepping on the accelerator, Deborah drove slowly along the paved road, bordered on both sides by palmetto trees and ancient oaks draped with Spanish moss.
She maneuvered onto the quaint Main Street and suddenly felt another rush of sadness, but this one was not personal. Like so many small towns across the United States she realized the Cove was slowly dying. She noticed more boarded-up storefronts; the sidewalks were cracked and even the Cove Inn, a boardinghouse and one of the grandest houses on the island, needed a new coat of white paint.
Deborah drove into the small parking lot behind Jack’s Fish House. After only a cup of coffee earlier that morning she needed to eat before throwing herself into the chore of cleaning the house. There were more than a dozen cars in the lot; some she recognized as belonging to local fishermen.
The winter temperature on Cavanaugh was at least ten degrees warmer than in Charleston, so she left her wool jacket in the car. Reaching for her purse she walked up from the lot to the entrance of the restaurant, an establishment that was known for serving some of the best seafood in the Lowcountry.
The familiar interior of Jack’s Fish House hadn’t changed in decades. Tables hewn from tree trunks bore the names and initials of countless lovers, ex-lovers, and those who wanted to achieve immortality by carving their names into a piece of wood. Only the light fixtures had changed, from bulbs covered by frosted globes to hanging lamps with Tiffany-style shades. A trio of ceiling fans turned at the lowest speed to offset the buildup of heat coming from the kitchen each time the café doors swung open. The year before the Jacksons had added a quartet of flat screen televisions, primarily for the fishermen who went out at dawn and returned midday with their nets laden with crabs, oysters, and shrimp.
Deborah walked past restaurant regulars and a few strange faces to sit at a round table for two in a far corner. The mouthwatering aromas coming from dishes carried by the waitstaff triggered a hunger she hadn’t felt in weeks. She knew she’d lost too much weight, and although she had cooked for Whitney and Crystal, she would take only a few forkfuls of food before feeling full.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over the table and her head popped up. Luvina Jackson, wearing a pair of overalls and a bibbed apron, arms crossed under her ample bosom, gave Deborah a sad smile. Her gray hair was covered with a hairnet. “Stand up, baby, and let Vina hold you. I’m so sorry about Louis.”
Deborah couldn’t hold back tears as she sank into the comforting softness of Luvina’s well-rounded figure. The smell of yeast and lily of the valley wafted in her nostrils, a fragrance Luvina had worn for as long as Deborah remembered.
“Thank you, Miss Vina.”
Luvina rocked her back and forth. “You know the Cove would have turned out for you if you hadn’t had a private service.”
“I know that, Miss Vina. But I would’ve lost it if the hypocrites who were so quick to judge Louis would’ve shown up to pay their so-called respects.”
“All you had to do was say the word and we would’ve been there for you with bells on. Ain’t no way we gonna let dem two-face, egg-suckin’ vultures hurt one of our own. We would have turned it out.”
�
�Then we all would’ve been on the front page of The State or The Post and Courier, not to mention footage on the local television news,” Deborah murmured.
“I just want you to know we would have been there for you, baby. How are your kids doing?”
Easing out of her embrace, Deborah met Luvina’s eyes. “They’re coping as well as they can. But kids are kids and they are much more resilient than grown folks. They’re spending the week with friends until school begins again.”
“Thank goodness for that. Enough talk. I know you came in here to git somethin’ to eat. Whatcha want?”
Deborah smiled. Even though she’d been born and raised in Charleston, coming back to the Cove and listening to the different inflections interspersed with the Gullah dialect made her feel as if she had come home. “Do you have any okra gumbo?”
Luvina’s broad dark face, with features that bore her Gullah ancestry, softened as she smiled. “I jest put up a long pot earlier dis mornin’.”
Deborah returned Luvina’s smile. She liked Jack’s okra gumbo because they fried the okra with oil to reduce the slime and added corn to the savory dish. “I’ll have a bowl with a couple of buttered biscuits.”
“Do you want rice?”
“No, thank you. But I’m going to order something to take home for dinner.”
“Whatcha want fo’ dinner?”
“Anything that’s good, Miss Vina.”
Eyes wide, Luvina stared at Deborah. “Now you got to know that everything we makes at Jack’s is good. Have you been gone so long that you forgot that?”
Angels Landing Page 31
